The Black Box
by hopesterocks
Summary: The silver tags would tarnish and the pictures would yellow with age, but the memories would always permeate the Frenchman's mind. Like a toxin consuming his thoughts until it killed the host.  Gregstophe.  Character death.  I hate summaries.


It was a plain, black box, with a small silver lock. Nothing engraved, nothing ornate. Just a plain, black box. It sat on a table alone with a thick layer of dust and grime on the table it sat upon. The air was thick with the dank, wet smell of mildew and cigarette smoke that hung heavy in the air. A small window was covered by a moth eaten curtain. Nothing in the room except for a cot in the corner, a small propane stove, a rickety old table, and a equally tottering chair, and the box. The plain, black box with the silver lock.

The door to the small room swung open with a small creak to reveal a tall muscular man. His brunette hair was matted with blood and sweat, and caked with dirt and mud. His dark green tee-shirt was stained and ripped, and the shovel strapped to his back was covered in in mud, and a darker substance that looked eerily similar to blood. The name of this man was Christophe Delourne a native born Frenchman, and an assassin for private clientele.

His dark eyes stared at the black box. He walked forward slowly, inching towards the box. Christophe creeped to the table that had the box sitting stoically. The Frenchman ran one filthy finger across the lid, when the mud covered finger reached the lock he retracted his hand as if the appendage had been burned. The dark haired man pulled out a carton of cigarettes and tapped the bottom lightly, pushing one of the paper cylinders forward. Christophe placed the cancer stick between his lips and chewed on it as he pulled out a silver lighter. A dirt caked thumb flipped the cap igniting the small flame. Brown eyes watched the small orange flame dance, glow, and emit heat; like a tiny human being. He snapped the lighter closed extinguishing the flame. The Frenchman took a long drag on the cancer stick and blew the smoke out of his lungs in a long thin stream. The room quickly became hazy, but the black box was still in view. The cigarette clutched firmly in his lips, Christophe fished in his pocked to pull out a small silver key. The Frenchman gently slid the key into the lock and listened the the tumblers click into place allowing the dark haired man access to the contents held within the box.

The small slivers of sunlight glinted off of a metallic surface in the box. The Frenchman pulled out a pair of dog tags and held them to the light, watching the small slivers of sun that seeped through the darkness to bounce off of the silver surface. Christophe could see his reflection staring back at him, and he growled at his own scrubby appearance. His pale skin was streaked with mud and his skin was pasty and his cheeks were hollow. Greasy dark brown matted hair was getting long and no emotion, not even a flicker of light were in the Frenchman's eyes. Christophe stared into the tags and read the name over, and over, and over. He knew the name but without the redundancy he would forget. He could not forget.

"Forgive me mon ami" The Frenchman murmured under his breath and lightly kissed the cool metal of the silver chains. He set the dog tags on the table and pulled off his dirty combat boots, revealing thick, gray wool socks. Looking in the box was something that Christophe hated to do, but he didn't want to remember. The silver tags would tarnish and the pictures would yellow with age, but the memories would always permeate the Frenchman's mind. Like a toxin entering his mind slowly consuming it until it kills the host. The pictures smiled up at him, from the box a pale skinned blonde man smirked playfully at him. Christophe gingerly lifted the photo from its resting place at the bottom of the box and took another drag on the cigarette. He picked up the dog tags once more from the table and read off the engraving even though he already knew what they said.

"Gregory of Yardale." The assassin said softly to the air that swirled around him chocking out any other words. These were his partner's dog tags, his best friend, a native born British man was his partner and the irony of their friendship was almost humorous. Christophe remembered all of the arguments they would get into and all of the names they would call each other. A soft smile ghosting his lips as he remembered Gregory's eyes and smile, the way his mouth would purse in anger and the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled. Christophe gently placed the pictures back into the box, and realized it had been three years since that smile lit up the world. Three years since the feisty Brit had called Christophe,

"You bloody frog!" in his thick British accent.

Three years, today. Since Christophe received the order to kill his best friend. To exterminate him, and extinguish his life. Three years since he had been placed in a pine box, six feet underground, alone because of a bullet from his best friend, and his partners gun. The Brit never said he hated the Frenchman as he took his last few breaths. Instead he smiled and murmured something that Christophe would take to the grave. A mud covered hand shakily pulled out an orange button down shirt. The smell of the Brits cologne had long since faded and was fading out of Christophe's memory. He quickly, but gingerly folded the shirt and gently placed them back into the box. He picked up the dog tags once more looking at them before placing them back with everything else. The box was snapped closed and left to sit stoically once more on the table. The black box with nothing interesting about it, except for all the memories, sat alone once more.

(Authors Note)

Phewwww that took forever and a half to finish but I got it done! This is actually a shot story that I made for my English class. Please tell me what you guys think about this story because it's my first South Park fanfic that I'm posting online so feedback would be appreciated :) I'm thinking about tweaking this story slightly so that there's a lemon in there and posting that under the M section on here let me know :)

Review! Review! Review!

~Hope


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